


and when it's all over

by orphan_account



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Biopic, F/M, Gen, Interviews, News Media, Social Media, he never died, my excuse to look at the stark family post thanos through the eyes of an outsider, tony lives okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 11:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Seven months after defeating Thanos, Tony Stark has agreed to an interview.A look into the life of the Stark family, as they adjust to a new normal.





	and when it's all over

_ This article first ran in the May 2024 issue of Time Magazine, entitled "The Man who Saved the World Again", and is being reprinted here with permission from Time Magazine.  _

* * *

**Tony Stark is sitting on the floor of his kitchen**, a teenaged boy on one side of him, Colonel James Rhodes on the other. They sit waiting for him to say something, but he says nothing, and they both seem to know that it’s better to not force it at the moment. He’s been silent for the last five minutes since recovering from the vestiges of a dizzy spell.

Colonel Rhodes taps Stark on the shoulder and jerks his chin up, as if to say,  _ ready?  _

Stark waits a beat, and then nods. The young boy braces one side, and Colonel Rhodes the other, and together, they help him to his feet and to the table. After a few minutes, when Tony Stark finally speaks to ask for a cup of water, his voice is deep and scratchy, and it breaks in the middle. 

Stark is ill. He is afflicted by something so trivial, so common, and so deeply unsettling to see take down a man that the entire world sees as larger than life. 

Tony Stark has a cold. 

* * *

“Sorry about all that.” Stark offers, a while later. We’re situated in the living room, and Stark is nursing a mug of tea. The young boy is not far behind, hanging nervously over Stark’s shoulder. “I guess that’s as good an icebreaker as any.” He laughs, and it turns into a cough that leaves him doubled over, until Rhodes helps him straighten back up. 

“I guess my health’s not as good as it used to be,” He jokes.

But to look at him would be to see that joke fall flat. 

Tony Stark in his early twenties had an aura of larger than life, of James Dean, Sinatra, Brando. In other words, he was recklessly handsome, dark-eyed and just edgy enough to catch the attention of every tabloid on both coasts- and then some. No one could forget the infamous pictures of Stark coming out of an apartment in absolutely nothing save for a pair of socks and sunglasses, a joint hanging loosely from his lips, flipping off the paps as he walked away. 

Some of these traits still remain; He has one dark eye still,though the other is now a cloudy light blue, and Stark explains he’s hopeful he’ll regain his sight after some experimental treatments in Tokyo next month. Thick scarring creeps up the side of his face, into his hairline, and travels all the way down his neck, until it’s obscured by the Black Sabbath t-shirt he has on, threadbare and obviously well-loved. Of course, there’s something more striking about his appearance: his arm, or rather, lack thereof. The end of his shirt is not pinned up, and Stark guesses what my eyes are following. 

“I have a prosthetic,” he explains. “It’s in Wakanda for some tune-ups at the moment. But hey, you know, I’m all-right.” 

He turns at this phrase and flashes a rather un-suave grin at the young man behind him, who groans and buries his face in his hands. 

“Tony,” He says, with an air of what I could believe is long-suffering, if I had any clue how long this young man had been in Stark’s life. “Please stop. You’re going to scare her away.” 

“Not likely.” I tell the young man. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” 

“Ah, because we were all too busy fussing over my wee tiny little Victorian fainting spell?” Stark waves his hand. “That’s Peter. My kid.” 

As far as the world knows, there is only one Stark child, and she has been kept far away from any cameras. 

“Not biologically.” The kid- Peter- is hasty to correct. He settles himself on the couch next to Stark. 

“Close enough.” Stark says. “He’s my kid.” 

Peter shrugs at that. 

“I’m fine with it. I’m just happy I didn’t get a chance to inherit your ugly mug.” 

“The balls on you, kid!” Stark says indignantly, hand over his heart (a distinct lack of an arc reactor underneath). But the smile on his face seems genuine enough to crinkle his eyes, a first for this visit. 

It comes as a shock to me, to see Stark so domestic. 

The world stood still the day the blip ended, the day 3.5 billion people snapped back into existence wherever they snapped out- in the middle of basketball games, roads, houses that didn’t yet exist when they left. When the dust cleared, and it became known that Tony Stark was responsible for the final defeat of Thanos, it seemed only fitting. This was a man who had once literally shouldered the tonne weight of a nuclear bomb. But this was also a man that had disappeared for years- reportedly married long-time partner and one-time-PA-turned-CEO Pepper Potts, fathered a child, and not once shown his face to a destroyed world that he was partly responsible for the state of. 

To think of the feats that Stark has orchestrated, the advances of medical technology, green energy, engineering, the sheer superhero-redness of it all, you would think that being in his presence would be simply overwhelming, akin to a demigod. 

But I’ve met Thor, and while I mean no offense to him, this was far more terrifying. 

Because you see, the man who single-handedly saved the world, is simply a man. No Rogers-esque superstrength, no gamma radiation induced-power, no god-like stamina. 

Just a man who bears the scars of his choices, wears his old band tees until they fall apart, jokes around with his kid, and gets colds, like the rest of us. 

You see, meeting Tony Stark was more overwhelming, because it forces you to confront the fact that he is just as human as you. And where does that leave you?

Stark coughs again, and Rhodes, on ready-alert, it seems, gets up. 

“Want me to call Pep?” He asks, referring to Stark’s partner of over fifteen years. 

Stark shakes his head. 

“No, she’s working. But-“ 

“Cho?” Rhodes asks. 

Stark nods. 

I don’t want to ask, so I’m lucky when Stark offers an explanation anyways. 

“The arc reactor left me with a lot of lung and heart issues,” He explains. “It’s been out for a while, but I’m an old man now.” He says. “So a cold could...” 

“Turn into more than a cold.” I offer, and he nods again. “If I could ask, the physical toll of what it took to defeat Thanos- how are you coping?” 

Stark is silent for a moment. His hand taps a steady beat on his knee, perhaps thinking through an algorithm I couldn’t hope to comprehend. 

“It’s nothing,” he finally starts a minute later, in a measured tone. “Compared to the devastation that would have been wrecked if I didn’t put on that gauntlet. Thanos was prepared to wipe out the universe. My health is worth nothing-  _ nothing _ \- weighed against that.” 

There is a fierceness in Stark’s eyes that betrays the domesticity that has enveloped him. 

You could forget, sitting in a cozy living room lined with family photos, with nothing to suggest that he may have led a different life only a few years prior, except for one picture with Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers hanging off Stark’s shoulders. You could forget that he is a billionaire, a genius of the highest proportions. You could almost forget that he’s a superhero. 

But the look in Stark’s eyes remind me of the power that he has wielded, the devastation he has witnessed, and the choices he has been forced to make. 

“You were prepared to give your life.” I say quietly. It is not so much a question. 

“Yes.” He says. There is no hesitation in his tone. “I thought I was going to.” 

This sentiment seems to leave a heavy weight on the room, and it is not until a hear a small sound to my right that I look over and see that Peter is crying. 

“Sorry-“ He gasps. He gets up and leaves the room, and Stark watches him leave with a sincerely worried look on his face.

“Rhodey-“ He says. 

“I got it, Tones.” Rhodes gets up and follows Peter out. 

“He’s not quite as hardened as the rest of us.” Stark says, lifting his chin in the direction that Peter left in. “He’s struggling, still.” 

“Understandably. He’s only-?” 

“Sixteen. A few years older than Morgan.” He says. 

“More than a few. How did you meet?”

If Stark hesitates before answering, I may be imagining it. 

“He interned with me beginning his freshman year of high school. I guess I saw a lot of myself in him. I...lost him.” 

“The blip.” 

“Yeah. The blip.”

Stark’s eyes are starting to get a faraway look in them when Rhodes and Peter return, Peter’s eyes reddened. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” He says preemptively, before scrubbing at his face and sitting back down next to Stark. 

“You don’t have to be here, kid.” Stark’s tone has a gentle intonation I’ve never heard in it before. 

“No. I want to be.” Peter says. 

“Okay.” Stark reaches out, and ruffles Peter’s hair, in a gesture so paternal I again wonder if there is truly only one blood-related Stark child. 

In a stroke of good luck, the other Stark child then comes bursting through the front door. 

A streak of black hair and very bright light-up sneakers dart across the living room. The little girl shrieks “DADDY!” and immediately climbs on the couch to wrap her arms around her father’s neck. 

“Hey there, Maguna.” Stark croons. He presses a kiss to her head. 

“Morgan, careful,” I hear the iconic voice of Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, Co-Chair of the September Foundation, and, at this moment, a mother admonishing her child to be careful, to remember that Dad’s sick. 

“I’m okay, Pep.” Stark says. Peter picks Morgan off of Stark’s lap and settles her on his, where she gets very busy recounting her day at school. It becomes obvious that she has inherited at least a fraction of her father’s intellect when she tells a very animated story about correcting a teacher in math class. 

“Joey asked what would happen if you subtracted seven from five, and Ms. Santos* said that you just can’t do that and I raised my hand and said that the answer would just be negative two, but-“ 

“That’s your fault, Tony.” Pepper says, smiling. She places down her bags and strides over to me. 

It’s hard not to be intimidated when faced by the most powerful woman in business on earth. Dauntingly, business is not where her intimidation ends. Pepper Potts is strikingly beautiful, and exceedingly in command, even without her heels on, standing in her own living room. There is an air of unshakable confidence, and certainly not one that has been unearned. This is a woman who has fought on the proverbial battlefield of international business, and the very, very real battlefield of the Avengers Compound, when she famously suited up to help her husband take down Thanos. 

In short, she’s terrifying. 

“I forgot this was today.” She shakes my hand, and she has molded her face into something pleasant, but certainly guarded. 

“Yes ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“And you write for?” 

“_Time_, ma’am. This entire issue will be focused on Mr. Stark.” 

“Ah, as if he needed more reasons to inflate his big head.” 

But there’s no venom in her voice, and she drops a kiss to her husband’s scarred cheek as she passes him to the kitchen. 

“She never called _me_ sir,” Stark complains. 

“Pepper’s scarier than you.” Peter says, now hanging Morgan upside down. 

Stark sputters indignantly. 

“I saved the world-“ 

“She’s still scarier, Tones.” Rhodes adds helpfully. 

Stark seems to consider this as he coughs again. 

“Tony? You alright?” Pepper calls from the kitchen. 

“Already called Cho, Pep, she’s coming. I think it’s just a cold.” 

“Yeah, and you thought it was just a cold last winter, and then you ended up in the hospital-“ 

“I know, I know, I’m fine. She’s coming.” 

Stark rolls his functional eye. 

“She’s very protective of me. Mother hen instincts. Make sure that’s how you describe her in there.”

I laugh politely, though from my side, I can certainly see where Ms. Potts may have the right to be overprotective. 

“Would it be alright to ask Morgan a few questions? Of course you’re free to veto anything I ask.” 

“Whaddaya think, bug? You wanna talk to the reporter?” Stark asks his daughter. 

Morgan considers this, her face beet-red from hanging from Peter’s arms so long. 

“What do you wanna talk about?” She asks. 

“Whatever you’d like.” 

“Okay.” She swings down and settles herself on the floor next to her father and (surrogate? Blood-related?) brother’s feet. 

“What’s it like having Iron Man as your dad?” 

Morgan shrugs, and pulls something out of her backpack to tinker with. 

“Um, he doesn’t like me being in the garage ‘cause that’s where he works, but it’s just normal, I guess.” 

Before Thanos, Stark had been dormant for years after returning to earth from space, reportedly gaunt and close to death. Morgan has never experienced her father regularly fighting aliens and bad guys in the streets of New York. I suppose it _is_ normal.

“It must have been scary to see your dad, after he got hurt.” 

“Yeah. They wouldn’t let me see him for a long time. I knew it was ‘cause he looked bad. They thought I was too little.” 

“Were you?” 

She shakes her head, and levels a look at me that is reminiscent of her mother’s steady confidence, her father’s sheer power. 

“No. He’s my dad. He’s never scary.” She says solemnly. 

“C’mere, Maguna.” Stark’s voice is rough. Morgan climbs into his lap, and Stark presses her to his chest. 

“Kids, ya know?” He says as way of explaining why he’s wiping at his eyes. 

“I just have one last question for you, Morgan.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Who’s your favorite avenger?” 

“Oooh, think twice about this one, kiddo.” Rhodes laughs. “Remember when you and I went to Disneyland?” 

“Oh, no, I know who it is. Morgan sticks her head up. “It’s Spider Man.” 

Peter laughs loudly, then claps a hand over his mouth. 

Stark sighs dramatically. 

“Betrayed, by my own flesh blood. Oh well, at least it was Spider Man. Solid guy, that spider boy. She could have said War Machine. I would have had to sell all her toys.” 

“Watch it, old man.” Rhodes intones. 

“You’re older than me!” 

“Semantics.” 

The men laugh, and the room falls into silence. 

“So, any more questions for me, Ms. _Time_?” 

I have so many. 

“It’s hard to know what to ask you,” I say, honestly. “You haven’t been very open to the press, in recent years.” 

Stark's expression hardens.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. When you grow up in the spotlight, it isn’t easy to want to expose more of yourself. I don’t know how much more of myself I have left to give.” He laughs, but it sounds hollow. 

“So why this? Why agree to this interview?” 

Stark is silent for a second. 

“Five years ago, we fucked up.” 

(“Daddy! That’s mommy’s word, you’re not allowed to use that!” 

“You’re right, Morgan, he’s gonna have to have no cookies for a week.” 

“That’s a fair and just punishment, Madame Judge. I will accept these terms with no further argument.”) 

“But we did. Massively. For what we failed to prevent, the world paid for a thousand times over. The pain that we’ve suffered through the past five years- we did that. I did that. There is no denying that. Hell- we almost didn’t succeed in reversing it. I almost didn’t want to. Didn’t want to run the risk of losing what I had gained, while others lost everything else. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the world thinks it owes me a debt, but I just see this as me repaying my debt to the world.” 

This is a thought I want him to expand on, want to have endless conversations with him about. How some would agree, others vehemently disagree. How the world is unequivocally in debt to him. How lucky he is to be alive. 

In an ideal world, I get to spend the rest of the day in the surreal oasis that is this cabin by the lake, where AIs programmed by Stark himself run alive under the unassuming wood walls, and Avengers casually drop in. 

But this is real life, and in real life, Tony Stark has a cold. 

And when you have the life-altering injuries that Tony Stark has, a cold is not simply a cold. So the doorbell rings, and Dr. Helen Cho, renowned geneticist and arguably the top Physician in the world, walks in the door to make a home call, and I am quickly ushered out so that the exam can start. 

Colonel Rhodes walks me to my car, hands in his pockets. 

“Do you think you got enough material?” He asks. 

“Oh, more than enough. Can I ask you one question, though?” 

“Sure.” He crosses her arms. “Can’t guarantee I’ll answer it.” 

“You’ve known Mr. Stark for thirty years, now. What would you see has been the biggest change in him since his days at MIT?” 

Rhodes laughs. 

“Well, since Tony at MIT was a snot-nosed fifteen-year-old kid fed so completely from a silver spoon he wouldn’t know a plastic fork if it got jabbed in his ass, I’d say pretty much everything.” He opens my door for me, and I get in, and roll down my window. 

“But to be honest, Tony has finally figured out how to allow the people that love you to take care of you.” 

“That’s a good answer, sir. Please tell Mr. Stark I hope he feels better soon.” 

“Will do. Drive safe.” 

I roll up my window, and drive away from the cabin, away from the man who saved the world, and from the people who saved him. 

* * *

*_Names changed to protect Morgan's privacy _  
  



End file.
